


A Halfling Named Goldie

by CavannaRose



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Bard - Freeform, Breaking and Entering, D&D, Deals, Domestic Violence, Dwarf, Elves, F/M, Fantasy Religion, Gnomes, Half-Elf, Half-orc, Halfling, Hero Worship, Prostitution, Ranger - Freeform, Robbery, Sleep Deprivation, Theft, Thieves Guild, character backstory, rogue - Freeform, sorceror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Just a place for the stories and tidbits I write for my D&D character, Marigold Swiftwit.





	1. Chapter 1

The woman who now held the name of Madame Damnable sat in her small office, thinking back on the hard work that had brought her to this point in her life. Human by birth, dark of skin, with a broadness of shoulder and breadth of height that suggested perhaps her bloodline had benefited from hardier stock in the past (the rumours varied between dwarf and half orc, depending on the interaction with the formidable woman), she wasn't exactly beautiful, but she was handsome. The Madame wasn't old yet, but she was no longer the young woman who had been left in Niele, the charming pirate she had wed disappearing into the night without a trace. Though part of her resented his abandonment, the other half was strangely grateful for the freedom he had left in her life. Admittedly there had been few avenues of prospective employment open to her at the time, but she was never a shy woman.

With surprising fortitude and tenacity, she had bullied and schemed her way through the city, eventually ending up with the establishment known as Madame's Mentionables. She let a small grin spread across her face as she gazed out the window, enjoying the warmth from the mid-afternoon sun. It was a significantly less-known fact that she also owned the tavern above the whorehouse, as well as the lodging house across the street, and several much more respectable places of business further in town. She kept those far more secret, not wanting the extent of her spreading influence to be general knowledge.

Just then, one of her girls burst through the door, an unusual event all its own. The woman was panting, breasts heaving over her plain day-time bodice. "Madame! There's a girl at the door! Somethin's wrong an' I ain't sure what to do! Mayra's bringin' her inta th'kitchen right now!" Damnable frowned, hauling herself from the desk, straightening her own rumpled skirts to follow the fretful harlot down to the kitchens to discover what was going on.

The kitchen was a blur of activity, filled with a number of soiled doves that worked at Mentionables, all of them in various states of concern or hysteria. The matronly woman clapped her hands once, bringing the volume of the kitchen down to silence aside from the pained panting from the halfling girl. A path cleared between Madame and the newcomer, barely managing to keep her feet at their centre, clinging to the table with a tiny hand, face pale, one arm wrapped protectively over her belly, heavily swollen with child. Small even for a halfling, the Madame rather quickly sized her up as young, barely out of her own childhood. Something within the older woman softened as she took in the terrified face of the girl.

"Mayra, Alianne, get water on to boil. Mags, Fennie, go get some old sheets from the laundry and tear them into rags, this is gonna be messy. Rainie," she turned to the girl who had fetched her. "Clear out one of the 'guest' rooms upstairs. You can get Manny to help you." Bobbing a curtsey the slightly less frantic ladies of the night scattered, calmed by the presence of their Madame. Rainie fetched their man-at-arms and general dogsbody from his rooms to help move furniture upstairs. "What's your name, girl? Who's the father? Where is he?"

"Chrys-Chrysanthemum. Swiftwit. I can pay... locket... valuable... s'broken... No... no father. Couldn't... bad... had to flee..." Just then a scream of pain was wrenched from the girl, breaking off all conversation as labour began for real. Hours passed. Hours of blood and screaming and sweating and swearing. Finally it was done, and the Madame was holding the tiniest wee infant she'd seen in her life. They moved the exhausted halfling girl upstairs, tucked into a bed so big she practically disappeared into it with the babe on her breast. Mayra sat up with the girl as long as she could stay awake, well into the night, as the sounds of customers came and went.

Mayra woke to the sound of the baby crying, a weak, small thing, but it was enough. Moving to the bed to check on the halfling girl, she found her cold and still. Picking up the baby she fled from the room, calling desperately for the Madame. Arguments soon rang through the whorehouse, eventually ending in Alianne storming from the building, her worldly goods clutched in a small bag as she angrily abandoned the place she called home. In the end, the Madame gave the halfling woman's body a proper burial, with a small, plain marker in her own personal plot. The girl... Rainie's pleading and description of life as a ward of the temples or crown was enough to sway Damnable's mind, and they kept the wee thing.

Madame named her Marigold, and put her mother's broken locket away, saving it for when she was a bit older.


	2. Chapter 2

Routh Silverstride wasn't an imposing figure of a dwarf, though he thought that he was. He was narrowly built, for one of his race, with coppery facial hair that was both patchy and poorly maintained into a goatee. Still, he had an air of confidence and charisma about him that belied his scraggly appearance. There were rumours in some circles that claimed he wasn't even a full-blooded dwarf, but rather a half-blood, something delicate like gnome or elf, based on the apparent delicate nature of his facial features. Whatever he was, he had a remarkable amount of charm when it came to the ladies.

The best use of his charm, was scouting out new talent. He had never achieved much in the way of clout with the Thieves' Guild, but he was allowed to conduct his little business on the fringe of it all, and he found it turned him a tidy little profit, not to mention the fringe benefits. The rig he played was somewhere between a Buttocks and File and a Swaddler, using his pretty girls to lure in the victims, before koshing them over the head and emptying their pockets. Of course, this particular method earned him some enmity, even in the lower rungs of society.

Madame Damnable, in particular, loathed Routh Silverstride. She had built her business on the peddling of soft favours, and he made their job more difficult, less willing to indulge. Not only that, but he tempted poor young girls, and that really got her goat. Still, she couldn't prove he did anything, and she hated causing a scene while her girls were working. She had, instead, chosen to thwart his business deals in other areas, and he was itching to take his own petty vengeance. This was why, despite the dark glares he received from the old battleaxe, the scheming dwarf was inside Madame's Mentionables, perusing the ladies and ignoring the matron pointedly.

Finally his eyes settled on the slop of a halfling girl that was fluttering close to the Madame's side. A quick assessment suggested she was possibly nearing twenty, barely an adult amidst her own kind, and the only halfling amidst the lavishly dressed bevy of lovelies currently gracing the hiring parlour. There was an air of expectation around the girl, a nervousness that most soiled doves rarely held. Decision made, he smoothed his hair and lapels, sauntering casually up to the pair of women, a twinkle in his big brown eyes. "Evenin' Madame. Business looks well tonight."

A flicker of distaste was momentarily visible in Damnable's dark eyes, but it was quickly replaced as she nodded her head, keeping her tone both civil and mild as she returned the greeting.. "Evening yourself, Silver. What brings you to Mentionable's?"

"Why Madame!" he winked at the girl at her side, drawing a giggle from the mort as he turned the charm on the woman who despised him. "I've clearly come for the delight of your company, here in this pleasant establishment of yours." Again his eyes flickered to the halfling, avariciously eyeing the the fidgeting young woman. "But who is this enchantin' creature with you this evenin'? I do not believe I have made her acquaintance."

The lass blushed prettily, lowing her eyes demurely, much like any of the cattle he'd seen. It was almost disappointing, but his clever eyes just barely caught the concern sketching momentarily across the Madame's brow, and he knew he made his mark. Damnable heaved a sigh, adjusting her position so that she was practically between Routh and the girl, her tone taking a turn for the inhospitable. "Marigold doesn't work the house, she is far too young yet. You will have to seek the favours of one of the other ladies, or better yet, elsewhere."

Routh eyed the aging termagant assessingly, then pasted on his most charming smile. "Madame, I am demolished. How could I ever look at another female with this vision of loveliness in my eyes?" He bowed extravagantly, snaking out a calloused paw to catch the halfling girl's tiny hand. He placed a chaste kiss on the delicate skin, eyes trapping those of the wee thing. "My name is Routh Silverstride, beauteous angel, what may I call you?"

Blushing an even deeper red, she forgot to reclaim her hand, enchanted by the dwarf's intense brown gaze. "Marigold... Swiftwit." The girl just barely managed to stutter out, absolutely taken by the conman.

He gently squeezed her hand, still not releasing his hold. "Goldie. It suits you, darlin'. I do so hope to see you again. May I call on you?" As the Madame stood, immediately raising a protest, Routh placed another kiss on the back of Marigold's hand. Winking, he bowed to both ladies and left the bawdy house, well pleased with his evening's work. The Madame had been excessively defensive on the halfling girl, which made the dwarf consider many things. He had questions to ask, and the beginnings of a plan in his twisty mind.


	3. Chapter 3

The half-elf was pleasant faced, dressed in the robes of those that followed the Cult of the Mother. Marigold had head the rumours that the group was trying to find a foothold in Niele. She wished them the best of luck. Faith was rarer than trustworthiness in the dock city. She offered the smiling face an awkward grimace of her own, small fingers splayed over the scrap of parchment she had been scribbling on. Usually her niceties were far more presentable, but she'd been caught off-guard, and was busy trying to tuck the parchment behind her out of sight.

"Oh! Are you a writer?" the half-elf had a thick accent, definitively Lorelan in origin. "Perhaps you are a bard, even? Please forgive my forwardness, but I have met so few folk that were literate for the sake of words rather than business since coming to Mahani."

Marigold frowned at whatever implications the half-elf was making, not that she was certain what those implications were. "I'm a whore, actually. One of Damnable's girls, I am sure you've heard of us." Sure it was only half a truth, since Madame still refused to let her work upstairs with the other girls. Instead she was stuck in the parlour, flirting and making small talk with those that simply wanted a sympathetic ear and a quiet drink without the fuss of the tavern above. The old battle-axe said she was still too young and innocent, and when she was close to protesting, the charming Routh Silverstride would somehow find his way to Madame's.

He wouldn't like her working the sheets, not when he came around right often, just to see her, even outside of working hours. He said he came around for the pleasure of her company, all flirtatiousness and charm, that one. Just last week he had taken her into the wealthier part of town. The pair of them had snuck into a manse that had been closed up for the off season. Routh and Marigold had played Lord and Lady, helping themselves to wine from the cellar and a few paltry baubles that Routh insisted no one would ever miss...

Marigold shook her head, shaking herself from the pleasant day dream to refocus on the young priest who was still fumbling for a reaction to the halfling's declaration. Finally the half-elf made a weak and meaningless gesture with one hand. "At your age? You're barely more than a child!" the woman protested.

She narrowed her eyes in protest. "That better not be a comment on my height, you long-shanked mort. I'm plenty tall enough for a halfling, and old enough to boot. You ain't exactly long in the tooth yourself."

Instead of taking offense, the priest from Lorelan laughed, placing a friendly hand on Marigold's shoulder. "You have the right of that, my friend. Come, let me buy you something sweet in apology. I promise I will not try to convert you from your wicked ways, not yet anyway." The half-elf winked, and Marigold couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Well all right," she offered her small hand up to the priest. "My name's Marigold, by the way, but my friends call me Goldie."

"Sister Blake," the priest responded with a firm shake and a smile. "I do hope we can be friends."

~~*~~*~~

The afternoon with Sister Blake was delightful, and the two found common ground to cover, though Goldie's sense of humour was certainly coarser than that of the half-elf. Eventually the halfling had to bid her goodbye, she had plans with a certain roguish dwarf that evening, after all.

The night with Routh was nothing short of magical. He took her to eat in a Tavern further up town, like they were a real, courting couple. Folks there seemed to know him, approaching for a quick word, calling him "Silver" with respectful tones. A few introduced themselves to Marigold as well, referring to her as "Silver's Goldie" in a way that put a happy flutter in her heart. She'd never really been anything that special before, as far as she could remember. At best, up to that point, she had been Madame's ward. This was a new experience for the small female.

Routh had been charming and complimentary, commenting on the new dress Caleb had helped Goldie sew. The slender human male had taken quite a shine to Goldie, teasing that it was due to her being the only one at Madame's that was smaller than he was. They rarely had full-time boys at Madame's, so Goldie felt that Caleb understood how she felt like an outsider, no matter how nice everyone was.

This, however, wasn't the time to think about Caleb. The small halfling had decided that tonight was going to be the big night. She wasn't a child, and she loved Routh Silverstride with all her wee heart. Once they left the tavern, Routh took her hand, leading her through back streets towards another closed up manse. The scruffy dwarf knelt to pick the lock, sending Goldie to keep an eye on the road, so that she could call an alert if anyone headed their way. Soon enough, he had the door open, and the pair tumbled inside silently, the halfling stifling an excited giggle.

A quick traipse of the house verified it's lack of occupants, and Routh gave her a soft kiss on the forehead that melted her insides. "Go get freshened up, little Goldie. I'll seek out the grim, dark cellar and return with treasures and libations." With a giggle she blew him a kiss, letting herself into the Lady of the house's private chambers. Tidying her windswept hair, she adorned herself with some expensive looking baubles. She would wear them tonight while they played wealthy merchant, and then on the morrow Routh would spirit them away to sell.

They reconvened, Marigold striking a pose for the handsome thief who had so deftly won her heart. "Ain't ya just a picture, little Goldie. A few more trips like this, and I'll have enough of a nest egg to ask Madame for my sweet Goldie's hand in marriage." He grinned as her face blushed bright red, and he caught her small hands in one of his. "What say ya, my Goldie. Would that please ya?"

"Aye," she whispered, overcome with the romance of the moment, and she threw herself at Routh.


	4. Chapter 4

Small, calloused feet padded lightly along the eaves of a slate rooftop, silent as silk. Pausing, toes curling for grip, the figure takes a slow breath, back flush against the square stone chimney. Brushing a dark lock of hair from her eyes, the halfling known in these parts as “Silver’s Goldie” allowed herself a jubilant smirk, a small sack of treasures clasped in one tiny hand. The long-shanked mort had been snoring fit to wake the dead, not even a twitch when Goldie had slid open the ornate jewelry box. Honestly, if folks weren’t going to mind their belongings, it was only fair that enterprising youths helped themselves to what was clearly not being appreciated.

At five and twenty years Goldie wasn’t much of a youth anymore, though for her race she was only barely an adult. Still, she had a place of her own, shared only with her dwarfish lover and partner, Routh Silverstride. Mostly the pair worked jobs together, with Goldie luring unsuspecting gents away into some dark alley or another with a flash of thigh and a flirtatious batting of the eyelashes, then Routh would kosh the dull-witted drunk over the head with his club. Though working with her lover was thrilling, Goldie wanted more adventure, and maybe less concussions, in her life.

Routh was entertaining ‘important gents from the Guild’, whatever that meant, at their flat. She was supposed to go visit with Madame and the ladies, but the slender halfling wanted to show her lover that she had more talents than he expected. She had perfected the art of moving silently and staying hidden during her younger years at Madame’s Mentionables. Despite being raised in a brothel, the ladies and lads that worked there, not to mention the formidable Madame Damnable herself, were so careful with Goldie, guarding her from the more sordid side of their life. She had been taught to flirt and tease, for certain, but the darlings wanted to preserve the innocence of the Madame’s young ward. Determined to do just the opposite, the halfling had taught herself to sneak about, spying on the soiled doves and their partners, learning all sorts of things about the earthier nature of their employment. Those skills paid off now, as was proven by her sack of carefully wrapped treasures. He was going to be so impressed when she returned home.

Unwilling to wait until she was supposed to return, Goldie shimmied down the drainpipe and scurried along towards home. Crouching in shadows across the street, the halfling watched as a tall elven man stepped from her love nest, pausing to tug his hood up to cover his ears and look around. He was handsome, for a knife-eared longshank, with a dashing scar across his chin, but then he _vanished_. Not the kind of sneak and scurry that Swifwit was accustomed to, he was there for one moment, and then he just _wasn_ ’ _t_ anymore. _Magic._ It had to be. Goldie tingled with curiosity, fingers twitching. She’d love to learn something like that, but magic wasn’t for her sort of people. Raised in a brothel and living life on the wrong side of the law? Magic took money and influence, and Silver had better things to expend both those resources on. He would take care of her.

She waited another five minutes, muscles cramping and impatience mounting, but she didn’t want to crash into any more of these ‘Guild’ fellows that Routh was always going on about. They weren’t more than a bunch of charmers back when she was with Madame, but now that she was outside Damnable’s immediate sphere of influence, some of them were a might rougher around the edges. Best to give them a wide berth. Finally content that the coast was clear, she scurried across the cobbled street and leaned against the door, fishing in her belt for the key to the door. She paused, catching the sound of low voices beyond the wooden barrier, face screwing up into a frown. Was that a giggle? Nay, there may be a mort or two among the Guild folk, but not a one of them were gigglers. She’d have noticed before now, they would have been more comfortable to be around. Key located she swung the door open, entering with a dramatic flourish and a big grin.

For a moment, the world stopped. Nobody moved as the bundle dropped from Goldie’s fingers, her grasp suddenly boneless with shock. Routh had his trousers around his ankles, the middle of him buried in a flourish of skirts and petticoats, a human mort sprawled across the kitchen table that Goldie had so lovingly polished that morning. As her package thunked to the floor, the contents spilled unnoticed, rolling about her feet. “S… Silver?” She couldn’t breath, couldn’t even process what she was seeing. Stumbling backwards, big brown eyes darted from side to side, seeking escape.

Something was whispered, gruff and low inside the building, and Routh emerged, tugging his trousers up, the ends of his belt flapping ridiculously against his thighs. She couldn’t think clearly, kept focusing on those belt ends as he reached a heavy hand for her, trapping her wrist. She tugged, but his strength and size were both greater than hers. The long-shanked mort had herself reassembled as Silverstride pulled Goldie into the kitchen. “Out,” he growled low, indicating the door with a tilt of his head. Sniffing in displeasure, the tart flounced out the door. With a sharp tug on her rapidly bruising wrist, the dwarf tossed the young halfling towards the corner of the room, turning to lock the door. “Ya don’ lissen well, girl. Mayhap I been too gentle wit’ ya, on account o’ ya age. That end here.” The slide of leather through fabric loops had never been so ominous before.

Over the next half hour, Routh made their respective positions very clear. Between the whistle of leather through the air and the quiet whimpers of the girl at his feet, he explained how they would go on from this point on in quiet tones. His voice never raised to a yell, his every word seeming reasonable and calm. She would do as she was told. He would do as he wished. She would not protest. She would not disobey. Anything less than perfect obedience would result in a physical reminder of how small and alone she was. She was nothing, he owned her. Tears tracking down her bruised face, she trailed fingers along the heavy welts on her thighs and sobbed her compliance. Then he took her to bed and showed her once more how much he owned her.

The next afternoon he stood by the door, watching Goldie fuss around the kitchen, frowning at the way she flinched when he came too near. He strode across the room, catching her chin in his hand. “It’s for ya own good, girl. Better ta be out in the open like this. I’m off to visit one of me other birdies, ya keep the home fires burning.” He kissed her firmly and was away, locking the door behind him. The halfling stood in the centre of the kitchen for a long moment, waiting for her body to stop shaking. He’d taken her key away this morning, but that didn’t much matter to her. Ten minutes. That’s how long it took her to calm down, and to assure herself that he was well and truly gone for a bit.

She refused to rush, pausing every time her hands started shaking again. All it took was a glance in the tiny mirror to remind herself of why she had to get scarce. Halflings were nosy little creatures, and if the brutal dwarf wasn’t aware of that, it was his own problem. It didn’t take her too long to locate the place he had kept their nest egg. He said it was supposed to be for their wedding, and to set them up for a proper house, but that was clearly a lie. She examined the pile of coins and gems, it wasn’t nearly so much as she had expected. With a shrug she dumped it all in a bag and attached it to her belt. She dressed quickly in her best shirt and skirt, pulled on some leggings for warmth, and headed for the door. After a few minutes work she threaded her lock picks back into her dreadlocks and vanished down the street, moving at a run.

Who could she turn to? Surely not Madame, not after the scene she had made about leaving. There had been harsh words between them, Marigold had been… ungrateful, and that was being generous. Instead she made her way to the temporary building acting as the Temple where Sister Blake said she stayed. Unsure how to proceed, she knocked on the door. What seemed to be an age later, the door opened, and an unfamiliar human woman stood looking around, until her eyes trailed down to where Goldie stood, chin high with defiance, but the clear marks of the previous night telling their own story across her face and shoulders. “Oh you poor wee thing, come inside…”

“I just need to speak to Sister Blake, if I could, begging your pardon and all. It’s important.” She hated the look of pity the woman wore, and when the long-shanked mort reached for her, she flinched like some shivering looby. Forcing herself to straighten her spine, she squared her jaw. “If she’s not here, I can just go.”

Luck was with Goldie, and the woman ushered her inside, indicating a small table with a pair of chairs in one corner. “I’ll fetch the Sister. Have some water, little one. There’s bread in the basket as well.”

When the woman returned with Sister Blake, Goldie hadn’t moved from the door, but she had recovered her nerve. She waved away the half-elf’s cry of distress. “I need to leave town, sooner rather than later. Can you help? I know we hardly know each other, and that it’s a lot to ask…” She trailed off, anxiety clawing at her guts.

“Of course we’ll help, Goldie. I just… don’t you have anyone else? I thought you were one of Damnable’s-“

“Not anymore,” the halfling cut her off, knowing she was being rude. “I just… I can’t go there now, okay. I need to leave Niele, sooner rather than later. I’d rather not be noticed neither, if it’s all the same.”

“I’ll help you, but Goldie? You should write something to that Madame of yours. Whatever fight you two had, you said the lady raised you. She deserves to know.” Blake put paper and a quill before her. “I’m going to make the arrangements. You write a letter, and I’ll make sure that gets where it needs to go as well.” So Goldie wrote her Madame a very short note, just to make Blake happy.

_Dear Madame Mother,_

_I am leaving Niele, alone even. I can’t tell you why, not yet. Give my love to Caleb and the gals. I miss you._

_Marigold._

It wasn’t much, but Goldie convinced herself that she would write more when she was settled, when she knew where she would end up. Two hours later she was on the back of a farmer’s wagon, watching the only world she had ever known getting smaller. The old human driving his worn-out nags didn’t spare so much as a glance for her, so Goldie slid behind a bag of turnips and finally let herself cry.


	5. Chapter 5

The road to Trayyis was long and uncomfortable. Goldie rode along with the farmer as far as he was going, but after a comparatively comfortable night on the floor with his sheepdog, it was just a winding road and her own two feet. Worried for the small halfling, the farmer had given her a dagger, simple but sharp, that he usually kept on him. He even tried to convince her to stay, but she was determined. More than anything else, she needed to be as far from Niele as she could possibly get. Besides, she wasn’t convinced yet that her errant lover would take revenge on those that chose to aid her. He had often bragged about his reach, and his contacts. It was better not to let anyone get over involved. At least not anyone who couldn’t defend themselves.

The first day of walking was terrible. Her feet hurt. She had to pee behind a _rock_ in the _dirt_. **More than once.** She stubbed all of her toes, and seriously started considering the ugly shoes that humans wore in the way one dreamed about roast meat when all they had to eat was stale bread. _Stale. Bread._ That was a thing that she had to put in her mouth. That was a thing that she was suddenly grateful to have been offered by the long-shanked farmer. As she gnawed on the coarse dark loaf, she daydreamed of bonbons in the salon at Madame’s. As she tried, and failed, to light a fire that night she longed for evenings flirting and dodging over-friendly hands amidst the doves. As she lay on the ground atop her thin bedroll, staring up into the starry sky, she whimpered with the memories of soft satin and silk sheets as Mags or Cora would weave stories about the romantic things their paying swains would say to them. She listened to the sounds of the great outdoors, and wondered if she was going to survive any of this. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

The second day was better, despite how tired she was. The road was busier, full of all kinds of interesting people heading one way or another. A tinker let her crawl into his cart for an hour before he had to turn off the main path. She almost asked to go with him, but held back, embarrassed that she had fallen asleep during the ride. Better to go on to Trayyis. It was a big city, easy to get lost in. Easy to find work in. Easy to find company to get the fuck out of Mahani with. Maybe she would luck out and there would be a circus or something hiring on. Maybe she should learn to juggle. Before they parted she exchanged some of her hard-earned coin for some aged cheese and three apples. A veritable bounty on the road, as far as she could tell. As she was making her solemn goodbyes to his old mule, she didn’t notice him slide her coins back into her bag. She found them that night, as she wandered off the road to make camp. The unexpected kindness made her cry. That night the sounds of the woods couldn’t combat her exhaustion, not when the tears sapped the rest of her strength.

The third day was the worst yet. When she finally awoke, she found some animal had been at her bag. What was left of the cheese, and all three apples were gone. So were all the trail rations that Sister Blake had purchased for her. Money was grand, but here in these in-between placed, it wasn’t as helpful as she was used to. She pulled a needle and thread from a small bundle of costume pieces and make-up that Sister Blake had provided for her, she patched the holes with a deftness that Caleb would have been proud of. She missed him, and Madame, and all the girls. Worse, she missed Routh. She’d had nothing but time to think about what he had done, and how she had reacted, since she had started walking. Part of her wondered if she had overreacted. Mostly she regretted stealing from his stash. There was a good chance some of the gold she had carried away hadn’t been his.

Not that it mattered. She had spent most of the coin before she had even left Niele. Sister Blake had helped her purchase everything she needed to survive in a new city, though she had frowned at some of the purchases. Goldie had merely given the half-elf her most innocent look. The truth of the matter was she only knew two trades, whoring and thieving, and though she respected the ladies of the night, she remembered that Madame had wanted more for her. Besides, she was better at thieving. Most of the folks heading to the brothels at night were humans, and the long-shanks that were into folks her size were mostly pretty creepy. She had just managed to cheer herself up when the rain started. Hours of rumination vanished in the horrid, mucky slog that the trail had suddenly become. She sunk up to her knees. She got worms stuck between her toes.

Everything was awful forever.

The rain didn’t let up, and she skipped stopping for lunch in the hopes that she could get past the main storm in some fashion. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on her side. Finally she decided to stop early, seeing a thick copse of trees just off the road. Using her small size to its best advantage, she burrowed through thick underbrush, and then up along the close-knit trunks until she was slightly off the ground, held aloft by dense bushes. Rain still got through, but she wasn’t at risk of drowning in the infernal glop. She didn’t sleep much that night, as the thunder crashed all around her. She sensed that she wasn’t the only small creature huddled in the thicket, so she simply hoped against all odds that none of the others had a taste for halfling, or too many fleas.

The fourth day it was still raining. Her leather corselet was tight and chafing, and she couldn’t untie the strings. She ended up cutting the thing off with her dagger, leaving her just in the tight-fitting under-bodice. At least now her shoulders would have time to heal, hopefully the angry red welts wouldn’t get infected. She could feel that the bruises and other signs of what had occurred between her and Routh were almost gone. Unfortunately, in the struggle to free herself from the brush she had hidden in, the bottoms of her skirt had gotten caught, leaving long tears in the fabric. Oh well, at least it was shorter now, and spent less time trapping her legs and slowing her down. The rain continued until early evening, but as the sun went down, the clouds finally parted. Goldie nearly cried with relief. Everything she owned was soaked, but she found a mostly dry hollow to spread out her bedroll. She failed to light a fire with the damp wood, sadly, and shivered her way through the night.

The fifth day was a blur. The roads were still muddy. She was still wet. Mostly, she was exhausted. People passed her on the road, but she barely reacted, merely continued her gruelling progress towards Trayyis. Worse, she was still cold, and she was pretty sure there were worm guts under her toenails. She tried to keep her spirits up, but it was hard. At some point she must have traded with a traveller for provisions, as she seemed to have acquired more stale bread and what might have been a persimmon. That night she didn’t even unpack her bedroll, she just found a dry patch of grass and curled into a ball of exhausted sleep.

On the sixth day she ventured off the path, chasing sounds of water and found a small stream and pond. She was finally able to bathe off the muck and grime of her travel thus far. It was more than a small relief. Uncaring, she wasted half a day’s worth of travel relaxing at the small pond, drinking from the stream, and eating what remained of an incredibly hard loaf of bread. She carved a small target in one of the nearby trees and practiced throwing her dagger, picturing the way Routh always stood when he was showing off. It surprised her to discover that she was actually pretty good at it. Finally, something was going right.

On the seventh day the road was heavily travelled, and she was glad of her previous day’s rest and bath. She was able to purchase some fresher food from a few people, and for the first time since she set foot on the road she had a full belly. Right then and there she swore that when she had a chance she was going to indulge in as many treats as she could get her paws on. She knew Trayyis was getting close, but as it began to grow dark she accepted that she would, once again, be sleeping in the wilderness.


	6. Chapter 6

She made it to Trayyis somewhere around midafternoon on the eighth day. She stood outside the city limits, a hostelry to her right, taking it all in. The altercation with Routh was only ten days previous. Ten long, horror-filled days that had changed her life irreparably. She examined herself, bare feet calloused from uncountable hours on the road. A body that had started soft and curvy already thinned by poor nutrition, with muscles in her legs she had never known were there starting to be clearly defined, wrapped in stained leggings. A tattered skirt, now permanently a dull grey-brown from muck and filth, bodice equally stained and tattered. She was sure there was dirt on her face, and as she ran her fingers through her long, black dreadlocks, she came away with bits of twig and leaf.

Goldie sighed, thinking of pretty dresses, scented lotions and perfumes. Those had been her life before, not now. Now the most valuable items she owned was a pair of daggers, one from a priestess and another from a farmer, and a backpack full of odds and ends. She patted her belt pouch, feeling the comforting weight of the remainder of her stolen coin, and headed into the city. She needed to find a ragman or a tinker to pick up a few odds and ends if she wanted to prosper in this new city. Head held high, she marched herself into town, pausing to flirt with a guard. He seemed startled, reacting first as if she was some urchin, and the halfling felt her confidence plummet. Stupid long-shanks. Just because she was small, didn’t mean she was one of their infants. Pausing, she chewed her lip. Though to be fair, masquerading as younger than she actually was might help her out.

After a fair bit of looking, the streets were busy and she was short, she finally found her way to an odds and ends shop that would suit her needs. Keeping an eye on the shifty-looking shopkeeper as she browsed his wares, she put together what she needed for a proper burglar’s pack, as well as some general thieves’ tools, and then she supplemented the cosmetics for her disguise kit. Debating internally, she placed a set of manacles on the counter beside her goods. The gentleman perused her items, giving her a raised eyebrow. “Interesting collection here, little miss. Whatever could you be planning to do with it?”

“Hibni hyutan sy te.” Goldie growled in Thieves’ Cant, causing the shopkeeper to startle. It was rude, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be left alone to live her life.

The man raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. “A thousand apologies, mistress. No offense meant. You’re just such a wee thing. You be careful out there. The Guild and the Clasp are fighting for turf, and I don’t know what side you come down on, but I do know that a pretty little slip of a female like you can land yourself in a world of trouble.”

She allowed her scowl to soften into a flirty smile, shaking her head at the blustery fellow. The man sold goods that could only appeal to thieves, yet here he was fussing like a mother hen. “You’ll find no trouble from me, sir. I intend to give anything remotely troublesome a wide berth. These are just in case it comes a-looking.” She slid her money across the table, wincing at the dent her purchases made in her funds. Hefting a much heavier pack, she stared out the door. She was near the end of her gold, and wasn’t sure if staying inside the city limits was within her reach… at least not legally.

“If I may be so bold, wee miss. The Jaw’s Crest Respite is a reasonable rate, and they don’t water the ale. My cousin tends bar there sometimes, so it is entirely selfish of me to volunteer the information.” She turned and he winked at her. With a small laugh, she waved goodbye to the gentleman and set out to wander the streets. She’d keep the Respite in mind, but she had other ways of obtaining sleeping quarters for an evening.

Instead she observed the residents of Trayyis, watching as they bustled about the busy city at their work. There was a guard presence, but it wasn’t too plentiful. She did see them apprehend a long-shanked fellow, hauling him away. She shook her head at the ridiculous moustache and beard the man sported. Way too noticeable if you wanted to slink about. Idly she wondered what he had done, but not enough to investigate. As evening drew near, the crowds shifted towards either home or the taverns, depending on their style. Goldie slipped out the main gate, heading for the hostelry. She picked the rear lock easy enough, and slipped up to the loft to sleep for the night.

The next morning she slipped out of the stable just as the lads who worked there were getting up to start their morning chores. It seemed silly to employ burglary tricks against sleepy children, but she didn’t really want to get caught either, so she sidled through the shadows and headed for the entrance to the city once more. This time she was less thrown by the bustle of Trayyis, it wasn’t much busier than her own Niele. For a moment, she felt a pang of longing for home, but shook it off. Niele would never be home again, and she was here to see if Trayyis would be an acceptable substitute.

She was startled when a courier came running up to her just as she entered the gate. “Would you be the one they call Goldie? I checked all the taverns and inns last night, but if you stayed outside the city limits that would explain why I couldn’t find you.” Taken aback, she could do nothing but nod. “Oh good. Take this, fee is paid. If you see them at Dran, you tell them you just got here and that’s why it took so long. Right?” Once more Goldie simply nodded, unsure who or what Dran was. With a shrug, she unfolded the missive and ran her eyes over it.

 _Looking for a job?_  
Meet at the Jaw’s Crest Respite Firesday before the noon bell.  
Look for the gnome, there won’t be many or size there.

Well wasn’t that just curious. Pursing her lips she gives a nod, tucking the paper away. She wasted most of the rest of the morning, listening in on snippets of conversation. Her ears perked up when she heard that Tesoril Starlight had an establishment in Trayyis. Madame had taken her to see the handsome halfling sing, back when he was a touring bard. Apparently these days he ran a high-class brothel, but he still performed in the evenings. She would definitely have to check that out. Her schoolgirl dreams had been full of Tesoril before Routh entered the picture.

Noon was approaching, so Goldie moved on toward the Jaw’s Crest. Sauntering through the door she paused, taking in the layout of the tavern room. Ahead at a table sat a human woman dressed in robes, a half-elf with a bow, a half-orc, and most noticeably, a gnome perched on the table. Plastering on the smile she’d saved for custom in the parlour, she sidled along up to the group, all swaying hips and sparkling eyes, and hopped up onto the table between the gnome’s legs. She leaned down, giving him a good view of her cleavage and her best just-for-you smile.

“Well hello folks. My name’s Goldie, and I heard tell you might have work for one of my particular talents.” The half-elf, male if she had the right of it, elven-blooded folk always came out a little effeminate in feature, snorted. She turned her dark brown eyes to rake along his leathers and heavy green cloak. “Mind your manners, archer. I wasn’t offering my services to no long-shanked cove like yourself. I’m here to deal with reasonable-sized folk.”

Seemingly unimpressed the gnome brushed her off, standing to put space between them. “Yes yes. Good. We’re all here now. The job is for Dran Enterprises. My name is Gnoman, and this is my companion Gorth.” The half-orc raised a hand, and Goldie gave him an appraising look, followed by a smile. “If you lot will follow us, we can get on our way sooner rather than later.” With a shrug the halfling jumped down from the table alongside the gnome. She watched as the half-orc picked him up and then headed out of the tavern. She turned a speculative eye on the human woman, who gave her a gentle smile.

“My name’s Adara, and this is Ayre. We met here last night, but were apparently waiting for you.” She shook the woman’s hand, noting that they were soft. Magic user then, was Goldie’s guess. She wasn’t wearing the garb of the church, so not a cleric, and bard’s had callouses from playing their instruments. Interesting. With a firm shake the halfling released her and turned to follow Gnoman and Gorth.


	7. Chapter 7

They crossed through a marketplace, and into a wide courtyard-type place prominently featuring both stocks and a gallows, as they headed out to Dran Enterprises. Curious, Goldie noticed there was some kind of doing’s afoot at the other side of the clearing. A crowd had begun to gather, and what appeared to be guards were hauling someone towards the gallows’ platform. At Goldie’s side, Adara went rigid, cursing under her breath. With a purposeful stride, she left the group, making a beeline for the guards and their prisoner, who was beginning to cause a scene. His voice projected well, and the halfling barely concealed a grin.

“Just wait, hold on a second. I’ve stubbed my toe! It hurts quite dreadful-like, I don’t think I can go on. Can we just sit a spell while I nurse my injuries, gents? No good dragging me about when I’ve been maimed so terribly I can barely walk.” Goldie followed Adara, wanting a better look at the dramatic prisoner. Once they were closer to the guards, she separated from the human woman, vanishing into the crowd the way only someone of her slight stature truly could. “It’s no good, Captain. I’ll limp for the rest of me life. I think I have a case for guard brutality here, you should really let me sit and take my shoe off to check on it.” The man wasn’t too tall, for a human, just past twice Goldie’s height, much like Adara. He had shoulder length black hair, and an elegant moustache and goatee combo, neatly oiled. Combined with his neatly turned garb and flamboyant attitude, Goldie suspected he might be a bard.

Adara had made it to the guards, and drew their attention, though she addressed the man, not the guard. “Devlin, what have you gotten yourself into? I haven’t seen you in five years, and here you are in handcuffs! Honestly, brother.” With an aggravated sigh she turned to the guard captain. “I apologize for whatever mischief my brother has been up to, but I promise that I can keep him in hand if you turn him over to my custody. I will pay his fines.” Since the apparent siblings were so conveniently causing a ruckus, Goldie sidled up to the edge of the crowd, dipping her small hands into the pouches and pockets of the guards, looking for a key.  Frowning, she found none, but did help herself to about sixty gold in the process. Waste not, want not.

She vanished into the crowd as Gorth and Gnoman reached the group, just in time to hear the guard captain’s response. “Sorry miss, but this one is for the hangman. His crimes have ventured beyond a mere slap on the wrist and a fine. I can’t help you.” The captain turned to leave, finding himself faced with a rather impressive wall of green muscles. Gorth frowned at the man, crossing his arms in front of him.

The small gnome cleared his throat, tugging on the captain’s sleeve. “Pardon me, sir. Dran Enterprises is vouching for this man, and herself would like to suggest you accept the lady’s coin for the crimes and leave it at that.” Several of the guards went a little green around the gills, but the captain stared at the gnome for several long minutes. The tension was high, and even the man in chains was silent as he observed the standoff. Finally the captain sighed, holding his hand towards Adara. Once the coins were safely in his pouch, he pulled a key from around his neck and touched it to the cuffs. Magic flared, and they fell off. Now wasn’t that interesting.

Goldie furrowed her brow at Gnoman as Devlin rubbed his wrists. He only had a moment, though, as Adara flew at him, grabbing him by one ear and smacking the side of his head with her other hand. “You stupid idiot! You promised you’d stay out of trouble this time! How dare you risk yourself, don’t you know you’re all I have you ass?” Goldie stifled a giggle and rejoined her little party, her face blandly interested as the half-orc and gnome led them further along, the guard captain glaring at their backs. They had certainly caused a memorable scene, which meant the little thief would have to be careful going forward. If they made a habit of magicked manacles around here, escaping could be a bit difficult.

The Dran Enterprises building was formidable, standing a good two stories higher than the buildings around it. Goldie bared her teeth at the guards in the entryway, not exactly a smile, but it nearly passed muster. She was getting tired of all the long-shanked buggers that this city was crawling with. She had hoped that there would be more folks her sized around these parts than there were in Niele, but no luck for that. An officious and prissy looking half-elf sat a desk, and barely greeted them before handing each of them a stack of parchment. “Here’s the standard contract. Read it through and sign at the bottom.”

Devlin scanned the document briefly. “And if I don’t?”

“Then, Mister Nightcrest, Dran Enterprise rescinds its voucher for your behaviour and the guards will pick you up at the door. I believe you had an appointment at the gallows that they really would prefer you to keep.” Devlin sputtered in rage, words like ‘blackmail’ barely discernable. The woman, however, seemed unconcerned, ignoring him as she went back to her own paperwork. Goldie took hers over to the corner and read it through, Madame would murder her if she signed something without reading it. Some of the legalese and jargon were difficult, but the general jist was that if they failed to keep their word, or if the job was incomplete, there would be severe penalties. Her lip curled in derision. She was already on the run from dire consequences, what was one more, really? Devlin was still arguing at the impassive clerk, so Goldie entertained herself by scribbling a dirty limerick in undercommon into the margins. It was unlikely any here would speak it, as she had only taught it to herself to impress Routh’s friends. She searched her brain for a particularly offensive rhyme.

 _There once was a woman from Clu,_  
who filled her vagina with glue,  
she said with a grin  
“If they paid to get in,  
they’ll pay to get out of it, too.”

She admired her handiwork, and then signed the page with a flourish. Passing the quietly reading Adara and Ayre she dropped her contract on the desk. Devlin stopped debating to look down, and stifled a giggle. Interesting. Goldie raised her eyebrow. “Are you going to keep bleating like a constipated goat? Because I’m bored, and if you waste any more of my time, I swear to all the gods, old and new, that I will punch you in the dick.”

He glared down at her. “I dare you to try.”

Finally Ayre spoke up, startling the halfling as she hadn’t heard his voice yet. “Perhaps we should all just sign and find out what the job is, before we begin fighting one another.” The judgement in his voice was heavy, and he glowered at the pair by the desk. Rolling his eyes Devlin scratched a signature at the bottom of his page and dropped it on the floor, stomping across the room to sit by his sister.


	8. Chapter 8

With all the papers now signed, two guards preceded the party up a long flight of stairs. Goldie dropped back, taking a swig from her flask and eyeing up the guards who were holding up the rear. She gave the handsome gnome gentleman a brilliant smile. “It’s always a treat to find reasonable-sized folk amidst all this hustle and bustle. My name’s Goldie, what do they call you?” She ducked her head down, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes as she lightly bit her bottom lip. Devlin looked back and snorted dismissively at her antics. Apparently no one out of this assemblage had anything resembling a sense of fun. This was her first adventure, and she wanted to enjoy it!

The gnome eyed her appreciatively, and then darted a glance over to his partner. The sallow-skinned human was looking straight ahead, focused on his duty, so he smiled at the halfling female. “They call me Trisk, Miss Goldie. Pleasure to meet you.” His voice was pleasantly low, with a musical accent she had to search her mind to place, since she hadn’t encountered it much.

“Your accent… Dwarven lands?” Goldie queried with interest, batting her eyelashes and moving closer to the handsome gnome.

A light blush dusted Trisk’s cheeks, and he ran a gauntleted hand over his pointy goatee. “It’s true, I do come from that way, but I’m happy to be free of them. A boring lot, the dwarves. Very traditional, always throwing their height around with the clever folk.” Goldie giggled appropriately, just as they entered the chamber at the top of the stairs. The woman who greeted them was tall and broad, half of her face hideously disfigured with burn scars. It looked like her face had been melted and scored, and it made the eye on that side of her face stand out in a distressingly bulging fashion. The halfling was fascinated, and took half a step forward, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm. Trisk gave a subtle shake of his head, speaking quietly, for her ears only. “She doesn’t like when people stare, be cautious Miss Goldie.”

Pursing her lips, the halfling kept her back to their prospective employer, letting the long-legged coves do the talking. Instead she leaned against the wall near Trisk, flirting outrageously with the pleasant-faced gnome. Several times they received disapproving looks from the other guards, but she just made faces at them. Finally, the human cove’s voice rose above the sound of their banter, drawing all eyes in the room to him. He had a hand at his waist, on the hilt of a dagger, and immediately all charm went out of her companion. The guards stepped forward, the sound of swords leaving scabbards ringing throughout the chamber.

“Just because you aided in freeing me from a situation I was definitely almost finished escaping myself, does not mean I owe you anything. You give details and half-truths, and I do not find any of that sufficient to cleave to your service.”

The scarred woman waved away her guards, looking bored. “You are free to turn down the job, Mister Nightcrest, but be aware that as soon as you step outside my doors, if you do not have my writ with you, you are as good as back on the hangman’s block. Despite what you think, your release was entirely conditional on your accepting this little errand for me, so I recommend you watch your tone or I will choose not to employ you at all.”

Since neither the pointy-eared cove nor the long-shanked mort seemed to be willing to say anything, to be fair the miss looked ready to strangle someone, Goldie figured perhaps it was time for her to speak up. She had a way with people, back in Niele, and had smoothed several ruffled feathers at Madame’s in her time. She sashayed forward, giving the head of Dran Enterprises, she hadn’t paid attention when the woman gave her name, her most brilliant smile. “Listen Gorgeous,” she began, and she heard Trisk let out a small whine behind her. “The long-shanked cove here is prone to dramatics, it’s best to pay him no nevermind. Myself, I wasn’t entirely looking for work here in Trayyis, but if all you want is a wee jaunt to recover some frippery up by the mountains, I’m not adverse. What we would appreciate is an accurate assessment of the danger we’ll be passing through, other than that, I’m sure the mort will convince her sibling the wisdom of accepting your offer.” She winked up at the tall woman.

She was clearly not used to being spoken to the way Goldie had addressed her, despite the nonchalance with which she dealt with Devlin’s hysterics. She eyed the halfling for a long moment, but the big brown eyes simply stared back at her, unblinking and full of feigned innocence. Shaking her head, she looked away from the small female, catching the half-elf’s eye. “Ranger. Come get the instructions for the job. Hopefully this little team I’ve collected for you will prove beneficial.”

“Begging your pardon Madam, but I do generally work alone. Are you sure that these… people are entirely necessary?” Goldie frowned at the knife-ear, growling a little and reaching for her own dagger. She didn’t like being talked about, particularly when she was standing but a few feet away. She opened her mouth to make a retort, but the magic user ‘accidentally’ stomped on her foot, knocking her out of the immediate conversation.

Fumbling to set the two of them to rights with a lot of flash and dramatic hand movements, the other female leaned in to hiss in Goldie’s ear. “Just let it go. The sooner he talks to her, the sooner we all get out of here and off on her little errand. If it’s what is needed to ensure my brother’s freedom, I would rather deal with it now and be done. Please?” Ayre and their employer were still speaking, his tones deferential and refined, unlike the common accents that the humans and halfling sported. Sighing she nodded, heading back to the edge of the group where her charming guard stood. He shook his head, whispering to her out of the side of his mouth. “You’ve got guts, but you have to be clever when dealing with the Missus.”


	9. Chapter 9

The woman’s voice was grating on the halfling’s nerves, with all the gasping and grating. It was obviously a great labour for her to speak, but tall folks rarely had much in the way of common sense. If the long-legged mort was cleverer, and less unpleasant, the young thief might recommend the hand gestures used by certain underground organizations as an alternative to a method of communication that obviously was uncomfortable. Goldie quickly lost interest in the proceedings as she looked around the room to see what the oh-so-intimidating Auspicia Dran had that could easily slide into light fingers. She didn’t get far into her perusal when one of the other guard’s intervened, placing himself between her and a particularly fascinating looking dagger.

Rolling her eyes, she placed her hands on her hips. “I’m just _looking_ you big oaf. There’s no harm in that.” Seemingly chagrined, the guard went back to his post, but Goldie moved towards the door. Whatever was going to happen, she needed it to happen now. Her patience had run its course. Luckily the knife-eared ranger seemed to have concluded his business, shaking hands with the Dran leader and coming away with a small case of coin, a down payment on their job. Feeling significantly more cheerful at the thought of spending money on the way, Goldie led the way out of the building, happy to be free of the oppressive place.

With a little coaxing, the half-elf was convinced to divvy up the cash between the party, and they split up to spend some of their soon-to-be-earned wealth. It didn’t take more than a tail’s shake to ditch the long legs, and Goldie was off to explore the city to her heart’s content. She was away from Niele, heavy in the money pouch, and for the first time in a long time, free of any immediate worries. Whistling happily she perused several shops, not really finding what she was looking for. That was when the name hit her ears. Tesoril Starlight. Bard extraordinaire. She’d seen him in concert back when he toured Mahani, and it had put hearts and stars in her eyes. Despite running into her new adventuring companions, Goldie pressed on to the Star’s Light and Inn, hoping to catch a glimpse of the illusive celebrity.

Admittedly, she got a little foolish. Gold exchanged hands and soon the halfling was happily ordering bottle service as her childhood crush took to the stage, crooning in a soft, sexy tenor. The atmosphere of the place was more like a nightclub, and soon her companions headed to their rooms at the Jaw’s Crest Respite, payed for by Dran Enterprises, but Goldie couldn’t pull herself away. When the bard was finished his set, she shyly approached and introduced herself. “P-pardon me, Mister Tesoril, but I have to say your performance tonight was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

Turning to face his fan, the effeminate gentleman with the large pompadour graced her with a smile that turned her insides to butter. “Well of course it was, darling. It’s not every day a body experiences perfection.” He gestured towards himself with one hand, as if daring her to take in the majesty of his deep purple doublet and scarlet hose, which she did eagerly.

This close to her hero, it was clear that, like herself, Tesoril was a halfling, and she blushed, offering her hand. “Well, my name’s Goldie. I saw you years back when you played at Madame’s Mentionables, Madame Mother let me stay up late to watch as a treat and I haven’t forgotten a minute of it.”

A flash of recognition, of real interest, broke the bard’s façade for a moment, before being smoothed away into the charming smile of the consummate performer. He stepped forward, wrapping a friendly arm around her waist. Tesoril had a good three inches of height on her, being a significantly taller specimen of their race. “One of Madame’s girls, are we? Well why didn’t you say so? I would have had you brought through so you could watch from back stage, my dear. Where are you staying tonight? I will be absolute desolate if you don’t say here. Be my guest, pretty girl? I’m positively dying for news of Niele.”

Blushing and giggling, Goldie allowed herself to be dragged off to the bard’s private quarters, barely noticing as he rattled off instructions to the guards and other staff of his establishment.  She was lost in fangirl ecstasies as he lavished her with attention, the like of which she hadn’t felt since she was home at the aforementioned Madame’s. She willingly shared stories of Madame’s political maneuverings back in Niele, flushing with pleasure whenever Tesoril laughed, or reached out to touch her hand in encouragement. The bard coaxed her into borrowing some delightful silk pajamas from him, and the pair crawled under the covers of his disgustingly oversized bed to share further confidences. Drunk on attention and alcohol, the young halfling lost track of what she said to her idol. Her head was swimming with the unfamiliar sensation of being drunk. She was pretty sure he was asking questions, but she couldn’t quite remember. Eventually, she lost consciousness entirely.

The next morning she awoke alone, tangled in Tesoril’s silk and velvet bedding. Carefully extricating herself, she begrudgingly changed back into her ragged bodice, tying the remains of her skirt into place over her stained leggings. She frowned down at the ratty garments, and then shrugged. If she thought about it later, she would go shopping for something to wear. Double checking her gear, she slid her daggers into their makeshift sheathes and kissed her mother’s locket before tucking it beneath her bodice and heading out to find Tesoril.

Out in the hall she heard the low sound of male voices arguing. Ducking around a piece of furniture, she slunk along the shadows, curious. There was Tesoril, wrapped in a plush house robe, and with him the gnome from the tavern. “You made a deal with us, Starlight. I don’t care what schemes you’ve come up with in the interim, you promised Gorth and I stage time. Prime time too, none of this early morning garbage. We gave you a hand up before you came into your own, and you owe us. If you don’t, well I’ll tell everyone who you used to be.”

“Gnoman, you are, as per usual, a disgusting piece of unpleasantness. Do you think I can’t weather whatever rumour mongering you might get up to? Your skill level is not up to the Star’s Light standards, and you and I both know it. Go bleat at someone who you can intimidate. I have better things to do.”

Tesoril stalked off, and Goldie shook with suppressed emotion. The gnome had threatened her hero, and now she was expected to travel with him? Fuming she snuck around the other hall, watching Gnoman head to the room she had been sleeping in. With a sense of devilment, she came crashing out of the shadows, hollering bloody murder as she landed on his back. Startled, the gnome screamed like a little girl, falling over in a tangle of limbs.


	10. Chapter 10

It was rather clear that Gnoman and Goldie were not, in fact, going to be friends. After she scared the wits out of him, he ordered her back to the Jaw’s Crest Respite and stalked out of the Star’s Light Inn. Not one to be ordered about, particularly by rude and irate individuals with large sticks up their backsides, the halfling took her time, ambling through Trayyis as she took in the morning air. Along her path, she came to a large stall labelled Tuffin’s Muffins. Behind the stall stood a massive male figure with dark grey skin and vivid black tattoos in the pattern of lightning bolts across his face and shoulders. Wide eyed, the little female approached. This close, the top of her head barely reached mid-thigh on the man. He was absolutely enormous, with rippling muscles, and an almost incongruous looking apron wrapped around his waist.

Going up on tiptoe, Goldie rapped on the counter to gain his attention. At his height, and in a place less used to persons of her stature, it took him a moment to locate the girl. When he did, he smiled, much like one would at a child. “Well hello there, little one. What brings you to Tuffin’s Muffins this morning?” His face was handsome and completely devoid of any hair. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected, but a beard was pretty high up on the list.

“Good morning! My name’s Goldie, are you Tuffin? I was hoping I could get some muffins this morning, to bring back and share with my new friends.” She scrabbled around in her pouches until she came out with a gold piece. “Can I get like a dozen? Are they big like you? What flavours do you have? I think the ranger probably likes things with berries in them, though I prefer chocolate. Can elves eat chocolate? I know humans usually like chocolate. Did you know that you are _really_ big? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as big as you are in my whole life, and most people I meet are pretty big.”

Tuffin laughed, a big booming sound, reaching down to pat Goldie on the head before picking up her gold piece and returning a handful of silver. “I will get you a baker’s dozen of my finest muffins, little Goldie. Most of what I have are honey and oats, but I have ones with some lovely dried figs and cinnamon if you’d like to give them a try.” She nodded her head exuberantly, making him laugh again. “I’m not really that big, about average size for a goliath. Mostly we don’t get folks your size around here. You’ll have to hold your muffins with two hands. Of course, you’ll also have to wait for a bit, they’re not quite out of the oven yet.”

“Can… Can I watch?” He gave Goldie a long look, but eventually nodded, and watched as she scrambled up to sit on his counter. While the muffins baked, the exuberant halfling flirted outrageously with the goliath, a fact that he couldn’t quite seem to grasp. At one point, he tried to very patiently explain how tiny she was, to which she wholeheartedly agreed… before returning to the flirtation. In the end, he shrugged and accepted the playful banter, so long as she kept her hands to herself and didn’t make any inappropriate remarks. In a surprising display of manners, the halfling managed to control herself.

When he was done, Tuffin handed her a paper bag about the size of her torso, and she could feel the warmth emanating from it. Peering inside she saw a baker’s dozen of muffins twice as big as her fist. She beamed up at Tuffin. “These are fantastic! I can’t wait to show my new pals what I’ve picked up for breakfast! I hope I see you again, Mister Tuffin!” Jumping down from his counter, she blew him a kiss and shot him a saucy wink, before bounding down the street towards the Inn where she was to meet her compatriots. She was very late by this point, but a halfling always arrives precisely when they intend to, and she enjoyed a dramatic entrance.

After maybe another hour of meandering, she returned to the Jaw’s Crest Respite, crashing through the door dramatically and waving her package in the air. “Hello fellow adventurers, I have returned! No need to applaud, I come bearing baked goods so that we may breakfast in style, no offense to the undeniably appealing menu of this delightful establishment, of course.” She winked at the orc tending the bar, who merely grunted and ignored her. Unfazed, she sashayed over to the table where Gnoman and Gorth, as well as the humans and half-elf, were clearly waiting for her. Grinning, she opened up her bag. “Muffins?”

Five pairs of judgmental eyes bored into her, and for the first time, Goldie thought that maybe these people didn’t want to be _her_ friend. As each of them declined her offering with gruff voices, the little female withdrew into herself, her internal monologue bitter and irate. She was just trying to be nice to the long shanked bastards. They didn’t have to act like she was diseased. Her face like a storm cloud, she listened as Gnoman and the taller folks debated the best routes to take to find this place they were going… West. That… She had just come from the West, and hadn’t really planned on heading back that direction. “Excuse me? How close to Niele exactly is this place?”

More dark looks as she butted in, but the halfling didn’t care. She was NOT going back to Niele, and every step closer was a step closer to Routh and his anger. She didn’t give a flip what the others thought, she wasn’t going to put herself into that situation, not when she’d struggled so hard to get herself out of it. She crossed her arms, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not moving an inch until one of you long-shanked jerks answers my question.”

The half-elf, Ayre, sighed, rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. “It’s about three day’s trip from here. Near Zen, just past Bitterhold. That’s days away from Niele. Can we continue, or do you have more demands and questions to ask about details we discussed while you were dawdling through town?” Oh yeah… these were not going to be her friends. She’d do the job, get her pay, and ditch them at the earliest opportunity. There was no way she’d ever get through to the arrogant prats.


End file.
